


Exploring

by GravityCanFly



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Ableist Language, BIID, Kissing, M/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityCanFly/pseuds/GravityCanFly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House has a patient he can't possibly understand, and acquires a house guest. A house guest with hella eyebrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exploring

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago. The medicine is a bit rubbish, though not that much more rubbish than a lot of the canon House writing. I haven't edited it at all on re-reading.

House limped as quickly across the lobby as his leg would allow, swallowing a vicodin as he went. He knew he was backed up on clinic duty, and wanted to avoid Dr. Cuddy at all costs.

 

“Dr. House!” Cuddy’s voice came from behind him. He flinched at the sound and turned.

“Good morning, Dr. Cuddy, and might I say you are looking very nice today?”

“You’re three hours behind on clinic duty.”

“Really, that shirt brings out your eyes. Brings out a lot of you, actually. Very subtle.”

“You’re not getting out of it.”

House gave Cuddy a smile.

“You’re not going to let me get out of this, are you?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“I do love a challenge.”

House turned and began to limp towards the elevators.

“Oh no,” Cuddy called from behind him, “you are going to do clinic duty, and you are going to do it now.” She caught up to the older doctor. “You have a patient in exam room one.”

She handed House a chart, which House gave the smallest of glances.

“Kid’s got a cold,” House held the chart out to Cuddy, “My work is done, I’ll be in my office watching Chase work.”

“We have a waiting room full of patients. You are not leaving until they are all gone. Enjoy.”

Cuddy walked off before House could protest. Reluctantly, he limped toward exam room one.

 

In the middle of one mother’s detailed explanation of why her daughter’s fatigue – or tiredness, as House interjected – could not be caused by staying up all night at a slumber party, House found his mind wandering, as it often did during a patient’s futile speech. He did not, however, dream about Cuddy’s tennis outfit, or his next monster truck rally, but he kept gazing through the window at Dr. Wilson, who was busily explaining something to a group of medical students at the nurses’ station.

“Are you even listening to me?” the woman asked. House looked back at her.

“Of course I am, I’m a doctor, I’m paid to listen.”

“What’s wrong with her?” the woman stroked her daughter’s hair anxiously.

“It’s something that we in the medical profession call _lack of sleep_. You can call it whatever you like.”

“No, no, look.” The woman began – again.

“If you don’t trust doctors, why are you here?” House glanced out of the window again, but Wilson was gone.

“Look, if she’s ill…” the woman started – again.

“She’s not ill!” House exploded, “She is _tired_!”

The woman stood up and stalked out, throwing a look at the annoyed House. The girl dawdled after her. House sighed and looked at the phone. He popped a vicodin, took the phone and dialled Wilson’s number.

 

 

Wilson opened the exam room door and looked round.

“Come in, come in,” House hissed urgently, putting his gameboy away.

“Where’s the patient?” Wilson asked.

“Shy.”

“House,” Wilson warned, “I’m busy.”

“Patient. Has trouble concentrating, inexplicably nervous around a male colleague.” House continued, staring at the ceiling, not making eye contact.

“Well… Either he hurt her or she’s in love with him. You don’t need me for this.”

“I do.”

Wilson turned back to face House.

“I do need you.” House limped over to the confused Wilson.

“I don’t…” Wilson began. House leant over, and placed his lips against Wilson’s. He kissed him slowly, fumbling, then pulled back and looked into Wilson’s eyes. Wilson gaped at him, his thick eyebrows lowering so that they almost covered his eyes.

“I have an appointment,” he muttered, and left. 

House rolled his eyes to the ceiling and cursed. He swung his cane round, knocking bottles and packets off the surfaces around him.

 

 

“House! House! Wait up!” Wilson called as he ran down the stairs. House pushed his leg to move faster, ignoring the streak of pain with every step. He had successfully avoided Wilson all day, now if he could just get to his bike…

“Hey,” Wilson sounded out of breath as he caught up to him. House said nothing.

“Look, about earlier…” Wilson began.

“It was a mistake, forget it happened.” House carried on pushing forward.

“House, slow down. Your leg can’t like that.”

House said nothing and continued at the same pace, even though the pain in his right thigh was making him feel slightly sick.

“I don’t want to forget it, House.”

House finally stopped and looked at Wilson. “Then you are more pathetic than I am.” 

House walked the remaining few metres to his bike, climbed on and drove off; leaving Wilson stood, completely still, on the sidewalk.

 

 

“We really do need to talk about this, House.” Wilson was stood in House’s conference room watching House make coffee.

“Nope.” House threw away an empty box.

“You don’t just pretend something like that didn’t happen.”

“Sure you do. Besides, it’s me who should be questioning you. You held the kiss.”

“Oh, that’s hardly fair.”

House shrugged, finally drinking the coffee that he had spent far too long making. Wilson looked at the ceiling and turned away. House watched him for a moment.

“I was surprised!” Wilson swung back round.

“You were surprised, so you kissed me. Interesting reactions.” House raised an eyebrow at Wilson. “Do you make out with nurses when heavy smokers turn out not to have lung cancer?”

“House, you are…” Wilson raised his hands and dropped them again, as if in defeat.

“Brilliant, I know.” House winked slyly.

However much Wilson tried to tell himself that House was just a friend, he couldn’t hide from his piercing blue eyes. Nor had he ever been able to explain why he remained friends with such a callous and difficult man.

“I need to know,” Wilson leant on the table and hung his head. “I need to know if this was real.” He looked back up at House.

“What do you want me to tell you? If you want to believe I’d just taken one too many vicodin, sure.” House was staring out of the window as he spoke. Wilson walked slowly towards the older man. He reached a hand up and brushed his fingertips softly over House’s stubble. House stared at him.

“I think it was real,” Wilson whispered. The door opened, and Wilson’s hand dropped as if it was connected to the hinge on the glass door, covered by the blinds that Dr. Cameron was now finding herself tangled up with.

“Your patient is responding well to treatment,” Cameron addressed House, when she was finally free of the blinds. She looked from House to Wilson and back again. “Is everything alright?”

There was a weighty pause.

“Fine,” Wilson moved to the door, “I have to see a patient.” He left, holding the blinds to one side. Cameron watched him, turned to House, looked back, and opened her mouth to speak. She seemed to change her mind and sat. House limped in the direction of his office. 

“What’s with the blinds?” Cameron finally asked.

House looked at her, considering, and swallowed a Vicodin. “Wilson and I shared a hooker.” 

He saw a look pass over Cameron’s face.

“What? You wanted some?”

 

 

“House, pick up. We have to have a real conversation about this. What is going on? You can’t avoid me forever… Fine.” There was a pause in Wilson’s message and House looked up. This was the fifth message that Wilson had left him that evening, and he knew that the next sentence would be, “I am going to hang up now. Call me.”

Five minutes later the phone started ringing again. House nudged it with his cane and it fell of the table. He could hear Wilson’s voice through the receiver, quiet and tinny.

“House? House? Ok, so you’re not talking. At least you picked up this time. I need to know. Are we like, an item now?”

House felt himself smile. “An item” was something that only James Wilson could say.

“Come on Greg, you know it meant something.”

House bent forward and picked up the phone. He held it for a second, then spoke into it.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. It meant something. Although I’m not sure what. But it must have meant something. People don’t just go around kissing each other. Or do they? I don’t know many people – not many that would ever kiss me, anyway.”

“Greg?”

“Yes?”

“Can I come over?”

House’s face softened into a half-smile. “Sure.”

 

House heard the knock at the door, but continued to stare into his almost-empty tumbler. His mind was full of doubts. Had he made a mistake? Would everything change? Was Wilson only going along with it to be a martyr? House almost laughed to himself. That would be so Wilson. The sound of knuckles on wood came again, and House considered calling out to whoever it was – Wilson, of course – but couldn’t quite bring himself to say the words. After a momentary pause, the door handle turned and Wilson let himself in. 

“How much have you drank?”

“Good evening to you too,” House responded.

“Seriously.”

“Enough.” House muttered, gruffly. “Are you worried you’re taking advantage of me?”

Wilson raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t think that’s what I came here for.”

“What did you think? That we were going to discuss our feelings? Do you want to fix me, Jimmy?”

Wilson sat on the couch next to his older friend, and leant forward so his lips almost touched the other man’s cheek. “Who’d want to fix this?” he breathed.

House felt himself stiffen up, wanting to reach out to this obvious invitation, but scared to show vulnerability even to his best – only – friend. Wilson leant a fraction further, and his lips brushed softly against House’s scruff. In spite of himself, House let out a brief moan. There was a momentary silence, and then a flurry of movement as House turned to press his lips against Wilson’s, and Wilson reached round to the back of House’s neck to pull him closer. The kiss was urgent, hungry. Both men clawed desperately at the other’s body, trying to satisfy the desires that they had both suppressed for so long.

Suddenly, House broke the kiss, and pulled away from Wilson’s embrace. 

“What is it?” Wilson asked, breathless and flushed. House simply shook his head. “I’m sorry… did I…?”

“No.” House managed, “I need…” He reached towards his jacket on the floor, but Wilson beat him to it, and produced two vicodin from the vial in the pocket. House took them from him and swallowed them quickly. “You’re quite a distraction, Dr. Wilson.”

Wilson frowned, concern quickly removing all traces of arousal from his features. “I told you running away from me would hurt your leg.”

“Everything hurts my leg. It’s not all about you.”

“You wound me,” Wilson clutched his chest dramatically. Both men laughed, and this time House leant towards Wilson and initiated the kiss. Fumbling for his cane, House started to stand up. Wilson moved with him, reluctant to break the contact between them. Together they moved into the bedroom.

 

 

House was awoken, as usual, by the rising pain in his right thigh as the previous night’s painkillers wore off. He reached out to his bedside table for his vicodin without opening his eyes, such was his morning ritual. His eyes snapped open when his hand failed to make contact with the things he expected – his reading spectacles, his pager, his painkillers. Slowly, the events of the previous night returned to him. He turned, trying to ignore the pain that even that small movement caused, and saw the sleeping form of James Wilson lying beside him. He laid his head back onto the pillow, his face beginning to show the pain he was feeling. He had two options. The first, go to the living room and retrieve his pills, or the other, wake up Wilson and have him fetch them. Neither of these were attractive options, and House began drawing up lists of pros and cons in his head. If he tried to walk to the other room now, without any pain medication, he might fall and find himself stranded until Wilson woke up. On the other hand, the idea of admitting the profundity of his disability to anyone, even his best – only – friend, was almost repulsive to him. Besides… He thought to himself, glancing over at his friend again, he did look cute when he slept…

 

As a fresh wave of pain shot through House like an electric shock, he gasped loudly and grabbed at the closest thing to him.

“Fuck.” He breathed, clenching harder onto the object. He glanced at it, realising it was Wilson’s arm. Wilson stirred next to him, and then opened his eyes. A smile spread across his mouth when he saw House, emphasising his boyish good looks. The smile faded quickly, as Wilson registered the grimace on House’s face and the nails digging into his own arm.

“House?”

“Vicodin… In the living room…”

Wilson immediately understood and jumped out of the bed, running to the living room, completely naked. He returned quickly, and handed the pills to House, who took three.

“House… That’s too many.” Wilson reproached, but climbed back into bed next to the older doctor, and proceeded to thread an arm round his waist and hold him close. They sat like that for what felt like hours, until House let out a long sigh, indicating that the drugs had finally worked their way into his leg and were numbing the pain. 

“Did you wake up that bad?” Wilson questioned, concern still wrinkling his brow. 

“No.” House admitted. There was a pause, as Wilson processed what that meant.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Didn’t cutting off the blood supply to your arm get the message across?”

“Sooner.”

House shrugged, finding a focus on his reluctance to discuss his impairment almost as uncomfortable as a focus on his impairment itself. Wilson sighed, and planted a kiss on House’s shoulder. He glanced at his watch. 

“About time to get up anyway.”

“You get up at this time?” House was incredulous.

“Mm, normal people do, yes. Mind if I use your shower?”

“Fine. Just don’t expect me to join you.”

“Damn.” Wilson mock-cursed, and left the bedroom. House watched him go, admiring his toned body. House leant back on his pillow and took two more vicodin from the vial. He looked at them for a moment, considering, and dry swallowed them decisively. Instinctively, his hand reached towards his thigh and began a gentle massage. He wasn’t sure how long he could prevent Wilson seeing how much the previous night's… activities, so to speak, had affected him.

 

 

Foreman saw his boss arrive in his office through the glass walls. He glanced at his watch, then back to his boss, and then at his watch again. 

 

“What the hell is he doing here already?” Foreman said, more of a statement than a question. Chase and Cameron looked up at Foreman, and followed his gaze to House’s office. 

“Maybe Cuddy’s on his ass.” Chase suggested. 

“Since when did he listen to Cuddy?” Foreman retorted.

“Or maybe it’s something to do with _that_ ,” Cameron said, pointedly looking at the door to House’s office, where Wilson was just entering. Wilson stole a glance at the ducklings in the conference room and closed the blind.

“What?” Chase raised an eyebrow.

“Wilson spends loads of time in House’s office, it’s nothing new.” Foreman pointed out.

“Why’d he close the blinds?” Cameron challenged.

“Maybe one of them has an embarrassing rash,” Chase suggested. The other ducklings stared at him, torn between laughing at him and hitting him. Breaking the awkward moment, all three pagers went off, and the ducklings fled.

 

“I can’t be seen here at this time. People might expect me to work.” House grumbled.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Wilson leant forward and stroked House’s scruff, expecting House to pull away from the intimate gesture. The older man didn’t, but he also didn’t reciprocate. There was a sound at the door, and Wilson withdrew his hand immediately. Cuddy walked into the room.

“Case,” Cuddy announced, throwing a chart onto House’s desk, apparently not noticing the charged atmosphere between the two men.

“I don’t want it. I’m not even here yet.”

“Oh, that’s a very good defence. You’re not five, House. Your team’s already on it.”

“Don’t need me, then.”

Cuddy leant forward over the desk, “You are going to take this case, or I am going to double your clinic hours.” She stood up straight again and folded her arms across her chest. “Your choice.” 

House mumbled something indeterminable and reached for the file.

“Good choice,” Cuddy whispered, and left.

 

 

“Symptoms.” House directed, leaning heavily on the whiteboard.

“Initially presented with weakness and loss of feeling in lower extremities.” Foreman began, “This developed to ascending paralysis.”

“The patient then reported severe ‘shock-like’ sensations up and down both legs,” Cameron added. Foreman threw her a look.

“The paralysis seemed to stop progressing about one week ago, leaving her with minimal sensation below the waist, and no sensation or control below the hips. This morning she went into respiratory distress.”

“The paralysis progressed?” House asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“Nerve function tests are the same as they were five days ago, and she has no further loss of sensation,” Chase responded.

“So what causes paralysis and respiratory distress?”

“Paralysis could be neurological,” Foreman began.

“We’ve agreed the paralysis isn’t stopping her breathing, is it possible for you to hold two thoughts at once?”

“If it’s in the brain it could also affect her autonomic nervous system,” Foreman explained with false patience.

“Could be damage to the spinal cord,” Cameron chipped in, “If she has damage in two separate places it could affect the legs, and the lungs and not the bits in between.”

“Did the patient report any serious falls?” House responded in a mocking tone, “Or, for that matter, back pain?”

“Maybe she forgot,” Cameron shrugged. A look from her boss prompted her to continue; “Spinal injuries can be like a car windshield. It gets a chip, which grows into a crack, and then one day the whole thing falls in.”

House nodded. “MRI her head and CT her spine. You,” he pointed at Chase, “Full body examination.”

“That was done when she was admitted.” Chase protested.

“Yeah, and the doctors in the ER probably only looked for big red crosses and targets. I want you to do it properly – note down every tiny abnormality you find.” Chase hesitated. “What’s the matter, she a dog?”

Chase shook his head incredulously and left.

 

 

House let himself into Wilson’s office and sat down on the couch. 

“How’s the patient?” Wilson asked, not looking up from his paperwork.

“She doesn’t walk or breathe.” House summarised. There was a pause. “It’s not lupus.” House declared. Wilson grinned and looked up at his friend.

“Is it ever?”

“No. That’s the easy one.” House sighed. There was another pause.

“Want lunch?” Wilson asked.

“You’re buying,” House said, by way of agreement.

“Naturally,” Wilson responded, replacing his papers in their file, and picking up his jacket. House forced himself to his feet with an involuntary grimace that he hoped Wilson did not see. “Is your leg bad?”

“No worse than usual,” House muttered, and left the room pointedly, with an air that said ‘if you want to come, come now’. Unfortunately, the effect was somewhat ruined by his cane and heavy limp. Wilson sighed, gathered himself, and followed.

 

House found himself staring into his chips… Foreman could not possibly be right. There is no way a single neurological problem affects the lower limbs and the autonomic nervous system and nothing in between. Plus, the neuropathic pain suggests that the problem is in the nerves themselves, rather than in the brain. Which left Cameron’s idea, which also could not be right. Who _breaks their spine_ and doesn’t notice? That metaphor was poor too…

 

“House?”

“Huh?” House’s head snapped up.

“Jesus, you were so far gone then I thought you’d had a stroke.”

“Oh, really sensitive, Jimmy, we’re in a hospital, you know.” House pulled his vial of vicodin from his pocket and took two. House’s mobile phone vibrated on the table. Wilson peered at it.

“It’s the team,” he informed House, who reluctantly answered the phone.

“What?” There was a pause as House listened. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He ended the call and looked back at Wilson. “We could probably use you up there as well.”

 

 

“A mass in the medulla oblongata isn’t causing paralysis.” House confirmed.

“It might cause the respiratory distress, though,” Foreman pointed out.

“It might not be relevant if it doesn’t explain all of her symptoms,” Chase said, “We don’t want to perform brain surgery if it’s not necessary.”

“It’s large enough to be significant. I would recommend a biopsy,” Wilson turned from closely examining the MRI.

House nodded to Cameron, “Get consent.” Cameron nodded and left. “What did the other tests show?”

“Spine CT showed several old fractures, but nothing new and nothing significant enough to cause this kind of damage,” Foreman reported. House nodded his agreement and turned to Chase.

“I’ve written everything down, but it’s just a few bruises and an interesting mole.” Chase sighed, evidently feeling that he had been given the grunt work.

“Give me the file,” House demanded. Chase handed it over. He and Foreman hovered expectantly. House looked at them. “Don’t you two have patients to look after?” he asked caustically, causing the two young doctors to rush off.

“Did you really think you’d find the answer painted on her body?” Wilson asked, peering at the papers in House’s hands.

 

“I was looking for a bruise on the spine, or lacerations that might have severed nerves…” House looked intently through the paperwork, detailing every inch of the patient’s body. “Nothing.”

Wilson moved to face House, and pulled the older man’s face towards his. They kissed warmly, and when they broke apart Wilson remained with his forehead resting against House’s.

“I have patients all afternoon,” Wilson breathed, “Come and find me when you’re ready to go, ok?”

“Yes…” House murmured, reaching his face up so their lips made contact again. They kissed briefly, and Wilson moved away, his cheeks burning red. House smirked. “Do you want to take a few minutes to cool down before you leave?” 

Wilson felt himself blushing more, and cursed himself for behaving like a teenage girl.

“Goodbye,” he said shortly, and left. He almost ran down the corridor desperate to get to his office without anyone noticing his obvious fluster.

 

 

“I’ll cook tonight if you want,” Wilson offered, as they pulled out of the PPTH parking lot.

“With what?” 

“We’ll stop by the store on the way home.”

House made an indeterminable noise and continued to stare out of the passenger window.

“Would you rather not eat?”

“The people at the store don’t like me,” House said, at length. Wilson cast glances at his friend – lover? – for a few moments in the silence.

“I’ll drop you at home and run round the corner. K?” He suggested finally. House grunted in what could have been agreement.

 

As soon as Wilson dropped House in front of his apartment, House limped up the steps and let himself in. The door safely closed behind him, he leant against it and moaned. His leg was really punishing him, and the effort of hiding it from Wilson was growing. House shook a few vicodin out of the vial and took them, before limping over to the couch and sitting down heavily.

 

House was roused from his pain- and vicodin-fuelled haze by Wilson shaking his shoulder. 

“House? _House!_ ” 

House mumbled something and reached out to Wilson’s face.

“Jimmy.”

“House, you’re high.” There was a pause. “For God’s sake, House! I leave you alone for 15 minutes…”

“It hurts.” House mumbled, before closing his eyes and letting his hand drop. Wilson reached into House’s jacket pocket and retrieved the vicodin. Counting them, he let out a relieved sigh. House had clearly only taken one or two more than his stated dose. A frown crept across his features as he looked at the broken man in front of him. He leant close to House’s face.

“Can I do anything to help?” 

The corners of House’s mouth twitched as he felt Wilson’s breath on his cheek, indicating that he was still conscious. He turned a little, and moved his head closer to Wilson. Wilson closed the gap, placing a kiss on House’s lips.

“I’m going to put this food away. Can I get you anything?”

“Scotch.”

Wilson pretended to consider for a moment, “No.”

House waited until Wilson had left the room to let out the breath he was holding. 

“Fuck,” he gasped, taking deep, painful breaths. 

“House?” 

House immediately held his breath again at the sound of Wilson’s voice. 

“Yeah?” he ventured.

“Do you need a heat pad or anything?”

“No… Wilson… You should go home tonight.”

“Not a chance,” Wilson announced, reappearing. House turned away from him, failing to hide his flinch as he moved. “Don’t sulk.” Wilson moved to sit on the coffee table opposite House. “Are you regretting this?” He asked, stroking House’s cheek with the back of his hand. House felt the breath catch in his chest. He reached up and held the oncologist’s hand next to his face. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Wilson suggested. “You can’t handle a night on the couch.” Without waiting for a response he stood, leant over the older man and slipped his arm under House’s shoulders. He pulled House upright and supported most of his weight as they began the slow process to the bedroom.

 

 

“We removed the tumour. We gave her a few hours to recover, and she was fine to come off the ventilator.” Foreman informed House.

“And her legs?”

“The same.” 

“So… What simultaneously causes brain tumours and paralysis?”

The team were silent.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough… Sentences that start with ‘what’ are usually questions.” House continued.

“Nothing,” Cameron said. “Nothing causes tumours and paralysis.”

“You mean to tell me nothing can affect the nerves and the brain at the same time? Should we check with the neurologist on that one?”

“Something in the nerves could cause lesions in the brain, but not masses.” Foreman responded.

“Maybe they’re not related. We removed the tumour, she can breathe, but her paralysis hasn’t changed. Maybe she has MS and an unrelated tumour.” Chase cut in.

“Too sudden to be MS,” Foreman pointed out.

“You’re shooting that down because of the time scale? Who comes into hospital with paralysis and has an unrelated brain tumour that nearly kills them?” Cameron scoffed.

“This patient?” House asked. “Get a contrast MRI of her spine and a lumbar puncture.”

The team left, and House gratefully sank into the chair that Chase had vacated. He rubbed hard against his thigh, feeling his breathing become shaky as he relaxed.

“Hey,” Wilson appeared at the door. House acknowledged his presence with a glance. “How is it?”

“Better than it was,” House admitted, and turned to face his friend. He looked away again, focussing on his hands. “Thanks… For last night.”

Wilson closed the space between them. “You’re welcome.” He said, sitting in the chair next to House, and slipping his hand into the older man’s. “How’s the patient?”

“She breathes, but she still doesn’t walk.” House sighed, scratching at his forehead with his thumb.

“Are you giving her radiation?”

“No. Tumour was benign, shouldn’t spread.”

Wilson glanced at the corridor and then leant over to House and kissed him. House reached round his friend and buried his hands in the younger man’s thick dark hair. Their lips moved together, exploring each other. House broke the kiss, and began to search Wilson’s face, kissing down his cheek, jaw, neck… Wilson moaned and moved to place his lips against House’s again. 

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat very pointedly. House and Wilson sprang apart as if they had been electrocuted. They looked towards the door and saw Cuddy standing there, half a smile on her face.

“I… We…” Wilson stammered.

“Did we forget to invite you? Sorry." House smirked.

“I came to ask about the case, but now I’m wondering if I ought to ask about something else…” Cuddy ventured.

“The children are running tests.”

“Looking for a diagnosis, or just to get them out of the house whilst Daddy kisses his buddy?” Cuddy smirked. Wilson groaned. 

“People were going to have to find out sooner or later,” House begrudged.

“We haven’t even talked about it yet,” Wilson moaned.

“What’s to talk about?” House turned to face Wilson and put on a wounded expression. “Marry me, Jimmy.”

There was a decidedly uncomfortable pause in which House tried – and failed – to hide his amusement, Wilson glared at House, and Cuddy observed the whole scene with an amusement tinted with concern.

“What tests are your team running?” Cuddy eventually asked. 

“LP and MRI of spine.”

“You’re ignoring the brain tumour?”

“Can you think of any reason for paralysis and an **unrelated brain tumour**?” House asked.

“It must be a tumour that’s causing the paralysis.”

“An invisible tumour,” Wilson muttered.

“Cuddy, you might want to leave. Wilson’s about to take his pants off.” Both of the younger doctors stared at House incredulously, and he smirked back. Cuddy rolled her eyes and left.

“House…” Wilson began. He stopped, drew a breath and started again. “We do need to talk about this.” House said nothing. This was the point of a relationship he always hoped never to reach. All that crap about ‘where we are’ and ‘where we’re going’. Can’t we just spend time together and have fun? He sighed, and stole a glance at Wilson. 

“Later.” He conceded. He knew Wilson meant far too much to him not to try this. Wilson nodded, and made to leave. Before he did, he leant down and kissed House’s hair. 

 

 

“MRI showed massive lesions in her spine.” Foreman announced. House jumped, having been almost asleep in his chair. He opened one eye and looked at his team. Foreman wore a face of indifference, Chase one of preoccupation – hopefully with the patient, House thought – and Cameron one of concern. As House sat up, he gave an involuntary grunt of pain. Cameron moved instinctively towards him.

“How big is massive?” House asked, pointedly ignoring Cameron’s increasingly worried look. Foreman handed him the MRI films. House held them up to the light.

“MS could not cause legions this size this quickly.” House said, mostly to himself. “Did the LP show any oligoclonal bands?”

“No,” Chase said, “But it was abnormal.”

“In what way abnormal?” House glared at him, “Proteins where there shouldn’t be? Too few proteins where they should be? What?”

“I don’t know. It’s not something the guys in the lab have ever seen before.” Chase stammered, passing a piece of paper to House. A frown spread across House’s face as he stared at the paper.

“Run it again.”

“We did. Exactly the same. No one can make sense of it.” Cameron said.

“Then they haven’t met Greg House.” House said, getting to his feet. He left the office suddenly. His team exchanged glances and then followed him. 

“Where are you going?” Cameron demanded.

“Talk to the patient.”

 

House walked into the patient’s room and immediately looked at the patient’s IVs. 

“Dr. House.” She said, matter-of-factly.

“That’s actually my line.” House responded.

“I heard you don’t see patients.” 

“Just the freaks.” House said, without a hint of teasing.

“Yeah, what makes me so special?”

“You’re a freak, wasn’t that clear?” House mock-frowned at her.

“House…” Cameron said warningly.

“It’s ok, you can leave.” The patient said.

“What?” House frowned properly this time.

“I never wanted you to be my doctor. You don’t have to waste your time on me.”

“That’s a load of crap.”

“It isn’t.” The patient said defiantly. House reached out to take her pulse, and her upper arm twitched. House, his team, and the patient all stared at it. 

“What was that?” House asked.

“I… tried to push you away… I can’t move my hand.” The patient’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t move my hand!” she cried.

“Demyelination is spreading,” Foreman observed.

“Wow,” House exclaimed, “You must be a doctor!”

He glanced back at the patient, who was staring at her lifeless hand and sobbing. 

 

 

“It says in her notes that she showed emotional immaturity in dealing with her paralysis.” House said. “What does that mean?”

“She wasn’t upset. She didn’t cry or get angry. She didn’t process it.” Cameron explained.

“And yet, as soon as she loses function in her hand she’s bawling like a little girl.” House pondered.

“So… She’s finally registering what is happening to her.” Chase suggested. House shrugged non-commitally, as if to say that he didn’t agree with that idea, but that he wasn’t sure he had a better one.

“What chemicals were in the cerebrospinal fluid?” House asked.

“The lab haven’t got the equipment to find everything. They’re running it through all the tests we can do, and they’re trying to get use of the infrared spectrometer at the university.” Foreman answered.

“Check the home.” House said. Foreman and Chase headed for the door. “And read up on her medical history before you go.” He added, and threw her chart at Chase who caught it – just.

House waited for them to go, threw Cameron a slightly derogatory look and headed towards Wilson'’ office. 

Halfway along the corridor he was confronted by Cuddy slapping a chart against his chest. 

“Clinic hours, remember?”

“But I…” he indicated towards Wilson’s office.

“Sorry, but you can play with your new boyfriend later. Right now, clinic hours.” Cuddy steered him less than subtly to the elevators. Once they were in one, she turned to face him. “What is going on with you and Wilson?”

House shrugged, and began to play with his cane, lifting it up and letting it drop to the floor again and again.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. At that moment, the elevator doors opened, and House moved to leave. Cuddy put a hand out and stopped him.

“House. If there’s any chance that this… _thing_ with James is going to make you happy, don’t screw it up.”

House looked pointedly at Cuddy’s hand until she moved it, and then made his way to an exam room. Cuddy stared after him and shook her head slowly.

 

 

House’s pager bleeped. He glanced at it, and looked back at his clinic patient.

“I’m sorry, I have to answer this page. It’s concerning a patient who is, how should I put this? _Actually sick_.” House limped over to the door and threw over his shoulder, “Tylenol works well for pain, I hear.”

Pulling out his cell phone, he popped a vicodin. He dialled Foreman’s number and waited, sitting in one of the waiting room chairs.

“What is it? I was looking at porn.” He snapped when Foreman answered.

“We didn’t find anything unusual, except that she has a cupboard full of mobility aids. Canes, crutches, even a wheelchair.” 

“That’s not that odd!” Chase’s voice came down the line. “She’s had numerous spinal injuries. Any one of which could have led to her needing mobility aids.”

“You’ve looked at her notes. Have any of her doctors recommended mobility aids?” House scoffed.

“People buy canes without advice from their doctors if it helps!” Chase exclaimed.

“But a wheelchair?” Foreman interjected. “You have to admit that’s weird.”

“It’s more than weird.” House said, and ended the call.

 

 

“Have you lived out of the country?” House walked into the patient’s room and drew a chair up to her bed.

“I told your lackeys all this,” the patient replied.

“And now you’re going to tell me,” House pushed.

“No. I have always lived in New Jersey.” 

“The thing is, we don’t seem to have all of your notes, and you haven’t told us everything we need to know.”

“Of course I have.”

“So why do you have a wheelchair?”

“You went to my house?” the patient sat up, suddenly looking angry. House just stared back at her, waiting for the confession that he felt was now inevitable. “It was my mother’s. She was sick and I looked after her. She’s dead. For some reason they didn’t bury the chair with her.”

House hesitated, wanting to shoot down this reason, but having to accept that it was fairly believable. He rose to leave. He managed to get as far as the sliding door, when the patient flatlined. 

“Can we get some help in here?” he cried, opening the sliding door and rushing back to the bed. Within seconds, two nurses and another doctor flooded into the room, administering medications and performing CPR. Within minutes, House’s team arrived and the patient was stabilised. House watched until the patient was stable, and left.

 

 

“Now she only has one limb and no heart,” House said, lying on the couch in Wilson’s office.

“You know you have a team to do this with, right?” Wilson asked.

“They’re not as good in bed.”

Wilson tilted his head to one side, conceding.

Cameron burst in, and upon seeing Wilson raised a hand in apology.

“House. She’s stable but she has almost crashed again twice.”

“Get an MRI of her brain.” 

“Why? We did that. Nothing will have changed.”

“Unless one of you screwed up when you removed the tumour.”

“What? We-“ Cameron began, but was cut off by House almost growling at her.

“And if you did, you’re all fired.”

Cameron fled.

 

“That was a little harsh.” Wilson reproached, still paying more attention to his paperwork than to House. “Do you really think they screwed up?”

“It’s more likely that than there being completely new neurological symptoms.”

“What if the crash was caused by something else?” Wilson asked, finally looking up. “Damage to the heart itself, nerve damage outside of the brain, a chemical problem…”

“If it was a chemical problem she would have remained stable longer. And if the heart can’t control its own rhythm, she’s got enough drugs in her to control it for her. It has to be in her brain.”

There was a pause, whilst Wilson turned his attention back to his paperwork.

“But why does she have so many spinal fractures?” House mused, at length. “She’s a secretary. When was that a high-risk job?”

“Maybe she’s a really bad driver,” Wilson suggested, light heartedly. House sat up, a thoughtful look on his face. He stood up and left, leaving Wilson looking bemused.

 

“Pull her insurance records,” House instructed, walking into his conference room. He looked around, confused, when he saw only Chase sitting there. “Where are the others?”

“Doing the MRI.” 

“Right...” House nodded. “Pull her insurance records.” He instructed again, before turning on his heel. 

 

 

“I need permission to sever a patient’s spinal cord.” 

Cuddy stared at House in disbelief. “What?”

“I think that cutting the patient’s spinal cord would prevent her paralysis progressing further.”

“Are you insane?” 

“A little eccentric, perhaps, but I think insane would be unfair…”

“With a completely severed spinal cord there is no chance of rehabilitation or physiotherapy, they would never regain any function…”

“Better than dead.” 

“Really, because I seem to remember when you were given the choice between crippled and dead, you chose dead.” Cuddy snapped. “You can’t do it, House. There is no medical basis for a procedure of this kind. This isn’t the dark ages.”

House sighed. “Fine. I’ll just tell her we’ll do it. It won’t be as convincing without your backing, but I’m sure we can make it work.”

“What?” Cuddy exclaimed. 

“I mean, I’m sure she won’t mind being told the odd lie. She’s told us enough of them.”

“You’re not going to do the procedure?” Cuddy attempted.

“No.”

“You were never going to do the procedure?” She continued.

“ No.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Cuddy proclaimed. 

“I know, right.” House scoffed, putting on a teenage voice.

 

 

“She’s had several crashes in the last seven years.”

“How many is several?” House said, condescendingly, earning him a look from Chase, which was duly ignored.

“Eleven.”

“Impressive,” House snatched the papers from Chase’s hands and looked at them. “Interesting how she always runs into walls and never other cars or people.”

“Is it?” Chase asked. House gave him a look that clearly said, ‘why did I ever employ you?’

“Well, walls come out of nowhere. You get used to where the other cars are on the road.” House scorned. 

“What are you saying, she did it on purpose?” 

“That’s exactly what I am saying.” House threw the papers on the desk and picked up the phone. “Hello, can I speak to the chemistry department please? It’s Dr. Greg House, Princeton Plainsboro. Thank you.” House threw a look at Chase, making the young Australian visibly uncomfortable. “Narrow it down,” he spoke into the phone, “Look for triethyl tin chloride, hexachlorophene or ethidium bromide.” He made an agreeable sort of noise and hung up. “You,” he turned to Chase, “do not leave that phone. When the university calls back come straight to me.” 

 

 

Wilson slid his hands around House’s bare waist, kissing the older man’s shoulders. House closed his eyes and relaxed into Wilson’s arms.

“Cuddy seems to think you might make me happy,” House mumbled.

“Oh dear. Everyone knows I am a heartbreaker.” Wilson grinned. House rolled over so he was facing the other man. 

“Check out of your hotel.” He said, running a hand through Wilson’s hair.

“Okay.” Wilson whispered, closing the gap between their faces and kissing House hard. House wrapped his arms round the younger man, holding him close and kissing him hungrily. He would never say it aloud, but it felt like a relief to finally hold Wilson to him. Wilson’s hand found its way down to House’s fly and began to unbutton it. House’s breath caught in his throat and he froze. Wilson hesitated for a second, and then continued to undo House’s fly. House let him, but remained slightly tense. He did not want this moment to be spoiled by the ugly scar on his thigh. He put a finger under Wilson’s chin and pushed it upwards. He caught Wilson’s lips in a kiss, and gently pulled his hands round his back. Wilson grinned within the kiss, and caught hold of House’s bottom lip with his teeth. House laughed, trying to pull away. The two fell back into their kiss passionately, scratching at each other in their eagerness. As House explored Wilson’s mouth with his tongue, his mobile phone rang. Both House and Wilson made a noise of annoyance at the same moment. 

“It’ll stop in a minute,” House whispered, going to kiss Wilson again. Wilson pulled away.

“It’ll be the team.” 

House groaned and reached for the phone.

“What’s more important than me getting some?” he barked into the phone.

“Her brain is full of tumours.” Cameron said, ignoring House’s comment.

“What?”

“There’s at least seven.”

“They weren’t there before…” House mused. “What tumours grow that fast?”

“Tumours don’t grow that fast. She’d have to have spent the last week in Nagasaki…” Foreman’s voice came through the phone. House sat up, pulling away from Wilson.

“Did the university call back?” 

“Not yet,” Chase’s Australian twang gave the answer. House sighed, and hung up.

 

 

 

“Tell me,” House said, opening the door to the patient’s room. “Why would anyone want to be a cripple?”

The patient stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“I mean, you get better parking spaces… Always have a seat on the bus… People just fall over themselves to do things for you.” House mused. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“But if you wanted all that, you could just stand in the middle of a road… Why go to the trouble of injecting a demyelinating agent into your spine?” 

The patient’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at House, who pointedly refused eye contact.

“Unless you wanted to lose function below a certain point…” House locked his eyes onto the patient’s. “Well?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the patient stammered.

“Yeah, you do.” House moved round to the side of the patient’s bed, so he was standing just a foot away from her. “You’ve been planning this. You’ve been playing with wheelchairs and crutches, going around letting people think you are disabled.” House leant towards the patient, his voice sounding angrier. “The difference is, you don’t need them, do you?” House threw his cane across the room, attracting the attention of the nurses outside. “You can choose not to be disabled when it suits you!” His voice rose to a shout.

“I can’t anymore!” screamed the patient, sitting upright, a wild look on her face. 

“House!” Cameron’s voice came outraged from the doorway, and House turned to see his team standing there. House sighed and took a vicodin. 

“Body Integrity Identity Disorder.” House said. 

“No,” Foreman objected. “BIID isn’t even a recognised mental illness.”

“It’s recognised by me.” House smirked, reaching out to receive his cane from Chase. “She injected her spine with ethidium bromide. Tell the university we don’t need them anymore.”

“They already called back,” said Chase, “You were right. CSF was full of ethidium bromide.”

“What do we do?” asked Cameron.

“Nothing,” House turned to the door, “She’s not my patient anymore.”

 

 

“She tried to paralyse herself?” 

“She’s mental.” House sat down next to Wilson and stared straight ahead at the TV.

“Well no wonder she didn’t want you to be her doctor.”

“What is _that_?” House leant forward and picked up an ornament from the table.

“It’s an African carving. My mum gave it to me.”

“Does your mum hate you?” House smirked. Wilson sighed and put the carving back on the table. “Don’t put it there. Hide it. It’s not like we’re going to invite her round to see what her dear little Jimmy is doing now.”

“You told me to move in!” Wilson exclaimed.

“Yeah, I meant you, not all your crap.” 

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Shut up and watch the TV.” House twisted in his seat, throwing his feet into Wilson’s lap and lying back. Wilson sighed, and passed House the remote.

“You choose.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Body Integrity Identity Disorder is a real thing, now understood to have a neurological basis. In this fic House reacts to someone with BIID (he suspects). This is not how I would react to someone with BIID, and it's not an acceptable way to react. Okay? Okay. Equally, there's lots of ableist language. Because it's House talking. And he is Not A Nice Man. Okay? Good.


End file.
